I want to live in a cottage by the beach.
I ♥ Krabi.
There’s always a clock
No matter where I go, it’s there
Always, sitting on the wall
Reminding me of the seconds
That just ticked by
The pain, the fear
Spasms of tension rolling off me
And then I wait some more
Yet one more
And then another
It’s time to pull myself together
I jump off
But for that little piece of my soul
That dies each and every time
I look at the clock on the wall
Tick tock tick tock
Reminding me of
How futile it eventually is.
And then I leave.
Dear Tiny Human,
Guess what? Today may just be the day that you are created. Fingers crossed.
Momma here has been through a really bad week – your poor Dad says that I am busily grinding my teeth at night when I sleep. That’s how stressful it has been for me.
You see, just last week, I had all but given up hope of ever conceiving you. After three painful and failed IUI sessions with my current gynae, she had suggested that your Dad and I head straight for IVF.
To say that I was shell-shocked is an understatement. I was overwhelmed with disbelief and devastation. Throughout our journey, I had never, ever contemplated IVF. At every moment, every step of the way, I had hoped for the best but never prepared for the worst. And this was the worst coming true.
Needless to say, I cried. Your Dad remained calm. It’s not that he isn’t affected by all this, it’s just that this has certainly taken a larger toll on me. It’s my body, after all, that gets poked and prodded every month; it’s me who gets the telltale sign that the IUI hasn’t worked yet again. He just believes strongly that you will happen eventually while I go through the ups and downs of hope and pessimism.
But it is through this storm that I get to see the love that those around me have for me. Your Aunty Hsu Wan responded to my text for help positively and gave me three doctors who are highly recommended by her colleagues. And then there’s my dear friend Denise, who sends me messages of love and encouragement, and cheers me up during those long, girly lunches. Your Dad leaves the decisions in my hands, understanding my need for some semblance of control.
And now, we are seeing a wonderful doctor who is kind, gentle, compassionate and warm. He’s everything that I have wanted in my previous doctor, who was, unfortunately, always pressed for time. He takes the time to explain things to us and assures us that we are perfectly normal. He also confirms that we are not quite at the stage of IVF yet.
It’s almost as if the dark clouds have parted and this little beam of sunlight is poking through. My heart felt light for the first time in ages and I was actually hopeful.
We’ve just done one round of IUI and it was worlds apart from my last two. There wasn’t any pain, tears didn’t stream down my cheeks due to the shock, I wasn’t left alone immediately to dwell on the unpleasantness of it, the doctor actually stayed to explain the procedure to me and answered my questions patiently. I could have cried, but this time out of gratitude.
I still feel like crying now, actually. There’s this whole tangled mess of emotions churning in me right now. It’s so hard because nobody around me would ever understand this and I will always carry the scars of this in my heart. I am happy, yet fearful; hopeful yet cautious.
You may or may not be created yet, the road is still long. There are surgeries and medications to consider.
But for now, I just want to believe that you are a probability, not just a possibility.
Love you already,
Oh, you know the stereotype: choristers are boring, geeky people who do nothing but sing screechy notes in strange languages. We are not cool, not like the athletes and the football players. Nobody except fellow choristers really appreciate the vocal gymnastics that we get up to. The staccatos and off-beat rhythms that gets us all worked up in a frenzy just bring a dull glaze to the eyes of the listeners.
But I think choir singers are pretty damn cool (absolutely not biased here). Whenever I hear groups singing in unison these days, I feel a sense of derision because, come on, it’s not difficult to sing in harmony, is it? Is it? And then I realize, well, I feel that way because I can do something that others can’t. Sometimes we just forget that not everyone sings the way we do, not everyone gets intricate rhythms the same way.
And if I were honest, I’d say that I think singing is cool because I’ve always had the biggest crushes on boys who can sing. Back in secondary school a long, long time ago, we used to go for choir performances of a certain boys school that always puts up fun and interesting musicals. And inevitably, the lead singer would be this cutie who has a voice that you would fall instantly for. Well, at least I did. It didn’t matter if he was really good looking or not, he would instantly ricochet up the HELLO GOOD LOOKING meter.
Well, I guess it’s of no surprise that I married a fellow warbler. Not that he has ever used his singing voice to proclaim his love for me, the one time that he did so was on our wedding night and that was an ONE NIGHT ONLY performance. It’s crazy that he thinks he cannot sing now because the dude can sing. And he hates karaoke. Weird. But he was lucky to be part of an a cappella group back in the days when we were dating because at that young, naive and extremely precocious age, I thought he was cute and he had a great voice. Even though he was Mr Thick(er) back then, thanks to his very wide girth.
(I’ve always maintained that meeting me was the BEST thing that ever happened to him. Now he is slimmer, cooler, more fashionable and has two cats.)
Watching this a cappella performance of Teenage Dream on Glee, I kinda think that Blaine is really, really cute. Too bad he’s too young for me to crush on, that would be nothing short of Mrs Robinson-esque.
Because he looks like this.
Also, because he tells his wife, who has a “hostile uterus” and who could possibly inherit her mother’s Alzheimer’s gene, this:
Here’s what we’re gonna do. No more doctors, no more labs. You and I, we have a lot of sex. Maybe we make a baby, maybe we do not. Maybe you get Alzheimer’s, maybe you do not. Just screw the odds, screw science. Let’s just live. Whatever happens, happens. Me and you. Okay?
Oh McDreamy, I’d marry you over post-its too!
Sometimes words speak louder than actions and the writers at Grey’s Anatomy have got that knack for the right words down pat.
A long, long time ago in July, I attempted one of Julia Child’s signature dish: boeuf bourguignon.
YES!! I actually cooked it without burning the kitchen down, and it tasted pretty darn good. Oh it wasn’t easy, absolutely not. I must have slaved in the kitchen for a few hours, chopping and stirring and frying and boiling. And truth be told, this is definitely a dish for special occasions because it did not come cheap. A meal for six cost us all of $90 – costly when this household is used to less than $10 per meal for two. We had premium beef from Culina so that added to the cost a little but man, it was worth it.
My special occasion excuse? Why, I bought a spanking new Le Creuset 4.5qt French oven in rose pink. It was on 50% sale at Tangs and with the shopping vouchers that I had accumulated, the price came up to $40.
The only problem that I had was in getting the right wine. In her recipe, Julia Child noted that the vino should be a young burgundy or beaujolais but I couldn’t find either at Fairprice Finest. I didn’t want to waste time hopping to the wine store so I just grabbed a bottle of sauvignon (which, according to YC, would have Child turning in her grave).
Mmm…maybe I should attempt this again during Christmas.